I've Got It, I've Got It...

Alright, so the old man and the family is in Europe now at a villa in Tuscany surrounded by decadence and magical wonder. And, if I fucking have to hear about one more fantastical bottle of wine, one more excellent dinner done by this spectacular chef, or how upset that I am not there with the "family", I will purchase a ticket to the Empire State Building and proceed to climb the bars and toss myself in a dramatic flurry of gayness. I will deliberately wear a pink ball gown and a tiara and maybe so much makeup and just go out in the most over the top and delightfully tacky way. That way when the family is questioning why I did it, and why the press felt the need to mock me, remember that they brought me to the brink of insanity. The guilt trip is getting on my nerves to the point where I am just about to take a break. Seriously. I mean w.t.f.? Has anyone out there in cyber land just wonder what the hell is the point of actually having family? Or for that matter...keeping them around?

Sure, maybe your ol' ma makes a killer sweet potato pie, or gandpapa has that wonderful smell of Old Spice that just brings back old memories of picking the petals off a daisy. He loves me, he loves me not! However dear reader, keep in mind your mother probably stole that recipe from Susan from down the street and that perfect little daisy was actually a living thing until you felt the need to destroy it. Ok, I understand that a lot of people actually love their families and they were actually just dandy, and I appreciate that. I do. However, I didn't have the Hallmark rim job that everyone longs for. So do I over compensate by holding onto the family that I have left and thereby putting up with more guilt trips, manipulation, dictation on the limits of our love, blatant disregard of my rights, and dismissal of my concerns just so I won't be alone AGAIN on Thanksgiving? Yes, I think I am.

Therefore I am trying my best not to start meowing at old ladies, and running around Central Park buck ass naked with nothing but a smile and couple of pasties. I actually ran about 6 miles today, through the woods of Prospect Park, up hills--down gravel paths. I am sure people were a bit alarmed when I took off full sprint through the picnic areas and grass noll. Here I am coming off a badly sprained ankle, and I am running full tilt like a mad man. This must be my version of cutting. Like a teenage girl that puts a razor blade to the inside of her leg. Jesus, what a mess.

Saw a kid passed out in a drunken stupor on the Brooklyn Bridge today. His fingers were burnt from the glass dick. He couldn't have been more than 19. I didn't stop. Neither did anyone else. Just kept on walking. Maybe that is what is bugging me today, really. I just don't have any reason to care. Sure I go do my best to volunteer. I am honestly trying. I am also trying to live. For once. I am not trying to survive damn it! I am trying to live! So why am I trying to live for everyone else and not for myself. Man, this living shit is hard to figure out, huh?